Tri Cycles

I've always been very much at the mercy of my phases. Certain silent alarms alternately fire in my brain. Art, prose, sex, poetry, love. And I pour myself into the obsession until a new one is loud enough to draw me away.

When I was younger I drew all the time. Face after face. Graphite replicas of all my idols from the music magazines.

A little bit older I began to write. I'd stay awake in 36 hour marathons filling single subject notebooks with bile about lost hope. And the other parasites that always seem to find young, inexperienced people.

In my twenties it was all about people. Sex and dating. Chat rooms and their various victims my pulpit as I preached with heavy breath about living like life isn't a threat.

By the time thirty had arrived I was a poet. The real kind. An alcoholic. And I'd finally found the one obsession that could trump all the rest.